The Price of a Global Stage
The cobblestones of Staroměstské náměstí, once echoing with the footfalls of Czech kings and the shouts of revolutionaries, now feel the soft-soled steps of global travellers. The medieval Pražský orloj continues its silent, gilded dance, not for the locals who once set their lives by its chimes, but for a sea of up-turned faces, each framed by a glowing smartphone screen. The square, which once hummed with the daily rhythm of local merchants, gossiping neighbours, and street performers, now exists as a curated postcard. It’s a stage where the only authentic performance is the ironic tableau of a city selling its soul to the very people who come to see what it once was.
District 1, the proud owner of the Old Town Square, currently counts just 23,000 permanent residents. That’s less than a quarter of its historic peak of 88,000 in 1880 and half of its population 34 years ago (in 1991, there were still 41,000 people here). Then the population steadily drained away. Now, it’s half that. The rest? Replaced not by other citizens, but by a shifting cast of visitors with rolling suitcases and selfie sticks. To live here today is to live inside a permanent festival — minus the joy of choosing when to attend.
It’s no mystery why locals left. The market, as they say, spoke — and it spoke in the language of high rents, high property prices, and low tolerance for sleep. Many historic homes have been gutted and turned into boutique hotels, luxury apartments for short-term stays, or Airbnbs that now rival — in number — the city’s actual long-term rentals. There’s a cruel poetry in that: the Old Town has never been more “lived in” on paper, yet less lived in by its own people.
Tourism arithmetic
Prague’s tourism machine is accelerating. In 2023, the city recorded 7.44 million visitors. In 2024, it was 8.1 million. In just the first six months of 2025, 3.78 million people had already passed through — a 3% increase over the same period last year. On a per resident basis, Prague is overloaded: studies estimate that, on average, there are 6.3 tourists for every resident at any given time. Local budgets enjoy revenue boost. Hotel taxes and related tourism income have helped fund public works, cultural programs, and infrastructure. In 2023, Prague collected 801 million Czech Krona (CZK; about 33.24 million Euros) in residence tourist fees from overnight stays, an increase of about 250 million CZK (10.37 million Euros) compared to the previous year.
But beneath the spreadsheets lies a quieter crisis: a city centre becoming inhospitable to its own people. The human budget shows deficits: fewer neighbourhood bakeries serving regulars, more souvenir shops; fewer children playing in courtyards, more rolling trolleys bumping over the cobblestones. The monthly average rent in the city centre for a usual flat was about ~€1,350 (~€20+ per m²), while even in the outer districts (Prague IV, IX, X, XIII) rent raised as high as €1,000 for a ~70 m² unit. Even if Prague households earn more than the national average, monthly living costs are still a struggle, taking up to 25-30 percent of the net household income. A recent study by Arnika cited by Radio Prague International revealed that Prague is the most unaffordable city in Europe for housing. The research also indicated that 45 percent of Czech households who are renting consume 40 percent of the monthly income just to pay the rent.
When the night was theirs
Of all the flashpoints, none symbolized the tension better than the infamous organized pub crawls — bar-hopping tours conducted by (drunken) tourists. For years, they paraded through the Old Town after dark, moving from bar to bar in orchestrated drinking marathons, delivering money to bar owners but also litter, shouting, and a nocturnal soundtrack of glass bottles clinking into overfilled bins.
In November 2024, the city council finally called last orders. The city-wide ban on organized pub crawls is in effect between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m., with fines up to 100,000 CZK (~€4,000). Ceska Televizie reported that alco-tourists even organized in groups as large as 100 people, hopping from pub to pub. The ban on organized nighttime pub crawls marked the first real defensive line against an unending tide. But one ban is hardly a fortress.
An old European story, new every summer
Prague is not alone in this. Venice pushes back on cruise ships. Barcelona claws at its rental laws. Paris’s Montmartre is suffocated by tourists chasing “Emily in Paris” scenes from the famous Netflix series. Cities can choose their villains — influencers, cheap airlines, Airbnb — but the ending feels familiar: historic districts emptied of residents, heritage preserved in the way a theatre preserves a set — beautiful, lifelike, but uninhabited.
For Old Town Prague, the question isn’t whether tourists will keep coming — they will. The question is whether locals will still be here to greet them. If not, the hourly chime of the astronomical clock will remain punctual, but its audience will be strangers in a place that once belonged to its people.
